


From a Merry Christmas to a Happy New Year

by bonetrinket (neer)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, New Year's Eve, Romance, Russia, Victor's parents love to tease their son, YOI Secret Santa 2018, but who doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 15:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neer/pseuds/bonetrinket
Summary: ...they were on their way to Victor’s parents. The people Yuuri knew only by photos and phone calls. The people with whom they were planning to stay for a week, to celebrate Victor’s birthday, Christmas and then New Year.Yuuri and Victor spend a wonderful week at Victor's parents' place, and of course, it's full of laughter, love, and holiday spirit.





	From a Merry Christmas to a Happy New Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [squeakymarshmallow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeakymarshmallow/gifts).



> To be honest, I wish I had more time to write everything I wanted too, but next time, I guess! 
> 
> [Alice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterpile/pseuds/glitterpile), thank you _so much_ for your support and for betaing! You are a real wonder <3
> 
> And [Lee](http://imhereandgenderqueer.tumblr.com), I really hope you'll like it. I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
> 
> (You can find the translation of Russian words and phrases in the end notes. Or you can use the hovering text, if you're reading from a desktop browser!)

When Yuuri was twelve, he thought that Russian winters were exactly as he saw them in pictures: cold, with fuzzy snow caps on trees and with snowflakes dancing in the air.

It was true, for some places. But St. Petersburg preferred stark reality over illusions.

The airport parking lot greeted Yuuri with storm wind and a handful of rain right in his face. He shuddered, burrowing deeper into his hood, got a more comfortable grip on his heavy backpack, which kept falling off his shoulder, and went ahead, looking around.

He didn’t know what was he looking for, exactly; despite late morning hour, the heavy black clouds plunged the parking lot in semi-dark shadows, and everything looked strange and alien, even though it wasn’t Yuuri’s first time at Pulkovo Airport.

He wandered around for a minute, aimlessly, feeling more and more wet and miserable with every step, and then gave up and pulled out his phone.

He took his glove off with his teeth, and his fingers immediately tingled under the freezing wind. The phone almost fell, but Yuuri managed to catch it.

“Come on,” he groaned, trying to tap on the right name on the screen for the third time in a row.

The name resisted. It, just like its owner, was stubborn as hell.

Suddenly, there was an annoyed honk; Yuuri jumped, barely avoiding stepping into a big puddle, and made way for two dirty cars to pass.

On the fourth try, the needed name had finally relented, but just as Yuuri held his phone to his ear — and hid his frozen palm under the hood — a loud voice asked, “Waiting for someone?”

Even after the car honk Yuuri hadn’t been as startled as he was after the unexpected words and even more unexpected arms that found their way around Yuuri’s waist. He turned around at once — and yeah, of course he met Victor’s tired, but happy and content eyes.

Yuuri hadn’t seen him for only a week, but his heart was beating so fast, it was as if they had been apart for a couple years.

“Hey,” he managed, stunned.

Victor didn’t answer. Instead, he grinned and held his arms open, so Yuuri quickly threw his phone into a pocket and slid into Victor’s embrace with a content sigh, hiding his cold fingers under Victor’s scarf. Finally. Finally, home.

“Let’s go?” Victor asked after a moment, smiling; he was shivering — the wind was blowing right into his back. Yuuri let go of him, a guilty look on his face.

“Yeah,” he squeezed Victor’s cold hand, and they headed to the car, laughing and using each other’s backs as a hideout from the obnoxious rain.

* * *

This year, everything had gone as well as possible: both the Russian and Japanese nationals took place at the beginning of the twentieth of December, which meant — and the thought made Yuuri’s stomach twist, his hands grow cold and his pulse quicken — which meant they could finally celebrate Victor’s birthday not on Skype in hotels in different countries, but truly together.

And Yuuri — almost — didn’t feel guilty about making Victor skip the Gala, because he had to run to his plane right after the award ceremony. Well, maybe, he did feel guilty — but only because Victor had to drive back and forth around St. Petersburg, first to take his luggage home, and then to pick Yuuri up from the airport.

And then to go to— On this thought, Yuuri’s mind always went blank. Because they were on their way to Victor’s parents. The people he knew only by photos and phone calls. The people with whom they were planning to stay for a week, to celebrate Victor’s birthday, Christmas and then New Year.

And the closer they were to the apartment, the more Yuuri had trouble breathing.

Victor clearly could feel his tension, but he only smiled and sometimes stroked Yuuri’s hand with cold fingers.

When the car stopped in a small neat yard with a children's playground and a single sad pile of dirty snow, Yuuri didn’t get out.

“Are you coming?” Victor asked. He was already outside, pulling the backpack and a suitcase out of the trunk of his car. He went to open the door for Yuuri. Looked into his eyes. “Yuuri.”

He was the only one who could say his name so that it became a reproach, a caress, a tease and a declaration of love at the same time.

Yuuri pulled his scarf up to his nose and got out of the car, taking his backpack from Victor. He couldn’t find any words to speak — or any air to breathe, for that matter.

From this moment, he measured everything in steps.

Twenty to the front door, then ten more to the staircase, then forty on the way up, and then Yuuri lost count, because suddenly, Victor turned around to face him.

He stood a step above Yuuri and watched him from above, really trying to contain his grin. His eyes had a childish glint in them, but when he spoke, his voice was sincere and earnest.

“Don’t worry. They’re going to love you.”

Yuuri looked away, shrugging. He knew that, intellectually. And he knew that no one would eat him or kick him out onto the cold street, and even if they did, Victor would go after him. Yuuri had no doubt of that. Or he tried to, at least.

But his heart was ready to burst anyway.

“I’ll just be glad that you get to see your parents,” he said, honest. Victor had been waiting for this for almost half a year. He visited his parents himself, sometimes, but — and Yuuri knew it — he really, really wanted them to meet his fiancé. “And even if...”

“They’re gonna love you,” Victor stepped down, and his hands went to Yuuri’s cheeks in that exact moment. A warm kiss was pressed to his lips — the first for today, despite all the awkward longing gazes Yuuri had thrown at Victor in the car. “I’m just like them. Believe me, they will fall for you from the first sight.”

He stepped back and continued his climb. Great. Now Yuuri was going to meet Victor’s parents with a beet-red face and steam coming out his ears.

 _That’s not fair_ , he thought on their way up. _That’s not fair_ , he thought as he tried to steel himself, watching Victor ring the doorbell. And then his thoughts refused to cooperate, because he heard a gasp, and someone started unlocking the door hastily.

“ _Priyekhali!_ ” a female voice rang, and the next moment a thin fair-haired woman hung on to Victor. Yuuri’s jaw fell.

“ _Zdr_ _—_ _zdr_ _—_ _zhrdr_ _—”_ he tried to greet her, looking at the two absolutely identical heart-shaped grins. Yuuri felt himself swaying. The Nikiforovs’ beauty quite literally made his head spin.

“ _Ne zamerzli?_ ” he heard another voice, and even though Yuuri didn’t understand the words, he could feel the soft concern behind them. Following the words, a tall — probably as tall as Victor — man with salt-and-pepper hair and stubble appeared in the hall.

And as simple as that, Yuuri became speechless. He just stood there, clutching his backpack, and watched Victor hugging his mother, then his father, talking with them in Russian. But Yuuri didn’t feel like he was abandoned. He couldn’t take his eyes off Victor.

Because Victor was glowing from the inside. His eyes, his smile, his happy voice... At first Yuuri thought that he had never seen Victor like that, but then he remembered that it wasn’t true. He had. More than once. For example, when Victor first met him in Pulkovo a little less than a year ago. Or when Yuuri won his first gold medal at the Grand Prix. Or when, a month ago, on Yuuri's birthday, they returned to Hasetsu and visited the Katsuki family for the first time in a while...

“ _Mam, pap, eto Yuuri,_ ” he heard his name and looked up with eyes open wide.

He still couldn’t find a strength to form words. He just bowed silently and received two awkward bows as a response.

“Come on in,” Victor’s father was the first to come to his senses, and he was the first to switch to English, for which Yuuri was immensely grateful.

A bit of jostling in the doorway, and they entered the apartment, which smelled like something sweet. After a moment, Yuuri recognized it to be caramelized sugar. Unfortunately, he had no chance to be distracted by it, because Victor went back to grab the suitcase, leaving Yuuri alone with his parents.

“Andrei Mikhailovich,” the father introduced himself, extending his hand. Yuuri shook it, nodded several times, feeling like his throat was gripped in a vice. Andrei Mikhailovich smiled — smug and teasing a bit, but still good-natured. He was wearing a high-neck sweater, not baggy, but perfectly fitted. He was in great shape, too; Yuuri knew what Victor’s father did for a living, but at this moment, his mind was blank. He was... what was he?

“Yeah, how about using your surname, too?” the woman chided her husband with a chuckle and a wave of her hand. “Call him Andrei,” she told Yuuri, extending her hand as well. “And I’m Alexandra. Or Sasha, if you prefer.”

Her handshake was strong, but not too much, and she herself was also strong, but not too much. It was clear that Victor got his beautiful silver hair from her, and Yuuri suspected that his hairstyle was influenced by her, too, except that her hair was longer, almost reaching her shoulders. She was also wearing a sweater, not a plain one, but down to her knees as a dress, and despite the wrinkles around her eyes, she was amazing.

Yuuri didn’t know what to say. He simply stood and tried to figure out whose eyes Victor had, because both Andrei’s and Sasha’s were almost equally blue.

It was a firm hug from Victor that pulled Yuuri out of his frozen state.

“I wanted you to meet for so long!” he said, loudly, and Yuuri could tell he was ready to bounce happily, the boiling energy almost palpable.

“We were waiting for you to come, too,” Sasha said, reaching for Yuuri to ruffle his hair. Her touch was soft, and, even though she was invading his personal space, Yuuri didn’t mind.

“Forgive my wife, she always clings to everyone,” smiled Andrei, himself immediately patting Yuuri on the shoulder. Yuuri pressed his back against Victor’s chest, as if seeking protection.

Nikiforovs. Nikiforovs never change.

A second passed, and all three laughed. Yuuri blinked — he couldn’t keep up with the exuberant Russian joy, but he giggled without even noticing, and then laughed too, allowing Victor to help him pull his jacket off his shoulders.

They both undressed and went into the apartment. Andrei, briefly winking at Victor, said that the present would be waiting for him in the kitchen, and then went there himself. Sasha walked with them to the Victor's old room.

Yuuri tried really hard not to think about the fact that he was going to spend a week in the room where his young idol once lived.

“I can’t believe you are twenty-eight,” she whispered, pulling Victor close for a hug in front of the door to his room. On the door frame Yuuri could see small sharp notches — apparently, the evidence of little Vitya growing up. “And you have a fiancé.”

She glanced at Yuuri, and he bowed again, startled.

“Yeah, I can’t believe it either,” Victor replied, hugging his mother. He was strikingly taller and wider than her — she looked like a girl in his arms. Turning his head, Victor smiled at Yuuri, and Yuuri gave him a shy smile in response.

“Okay, I won’t bother you anymore. But we’re waiting for you in the kitchen in twenty minutes, all right?” Sasha pulled away from Victor and kissed his nose, rising on tiptoes, then waved to Yuuri and went after her husband.

Yuuri didn’t have time to say anything, because the next moment, Victor dragged him into the room.

“Oh god, you really are here,” Victor breathed out, covering his face with his hands. He was shaking a little. Yuuri fully understood him. When Victor had first entered his room, he had shaken just as much.

“Yeah, I am. Um—” he dropped his backpack on the floor and pulled Victor’s hands away from his face, trying not to freak out himself. Victor wasn’t crying, but neither he was smiling. It wasn’t often for Yuuri to see Victor looking like that, but every single time his heart swelled with love.

“I don’t know what to feel,” Victor said suddenly. Yuuri was still holding his hands, and Victor made no attempt to free himself. “So much at once, I—”

Sometimes, his Victor was such a dork. Yuuri's heart melted at the sight alone.

“It’s me who doesn’t know what to feel,” he said, placing Victor’s arms around his neck and moving closer into his embrace. He was torn between delight and fear. “And you are happy.”

“Yeah,” Victor choked out. “I am. So much.”

Yuuri smiled — and stepped even closer, his lips lightly touching Victor’s. Victor exhaled heavily. A spark flashed in his half-closed eyes.

Yuuri licked his lips without realizing it. He would have gladly showered Victor with affection while they were still in the car, but that had been a public place, after all. But Victor’s room... his room was another matter altogether. Save for his parents, of course, who were sitting somewhere behind the wall and probably listening to what was happening in their son’s bedroom. Or they were looking at each other and laughing. Or maybe, they were in the middle of a discussion about Yuuri and Victor’s—

“I can't,” Yuuri groaned, throwing back his head.

Victor laughed and bumped his forehead on Yuuri’s chin.

“It's my birthday, and you still haven’t given me even one kiss. How so, Yuuri?” he asked, but there wasn’t any displeasure in his voice. A tease, rather.

Yuuri buried his fingers in Victor’s soft hair, feeling soft blush warming his cheeks.

“I will, in the evening,” he murmured, closing his eyes. He loved to run his fingers through Victor’s hair. “I— you— You know, don't expect anything fancy, I’m not good with presents, but—”

Victor's palm found its way up to Yuuri’s mouth and shut him up promptly.

“ _Luchshiy moy podarochek_ — _eto ty,_ ” Victor singsonged quietly, squeezing Yuuri tightly in his arms before pulling back to say, “And now, while my mom hasn’t tried to come busting in here yet, let’s change, and I’ll introduce you properly.”

 

When they left the room — which took quite a long time, and not because they were doing anything obscene, but because Yuuri was staring at everything, unable to believe his happiness — Victor gave Yuuri a short house tour.

In addition to his old bedroom, which had long been turned into his parent's office, but with a bed, there were two more rooms in the apartment: the main bedroom, which they only glanced at for a few seconds, and the living room in soft beige and lilac tones.

Despite the fact that the whole apartment was decorated for the New Year — the walls were adorned in sparkling tinsel and ornaments, garlands and snowflakes flickered on the windows, snowmen stood on the shelves — the living room left Yuuri staring in amazement at a huge fir near the balcony door.

It shimmered with lights, and its branches were covered with white and purple glass ornaments, ribbons and little bows.

Yuuri opened his mouth in amazement.

“Wow...” he breathed out, reaching out to touch a heavy branch that turned out to be artificial. “I’ve never seen a Christmas tree like that…”

Victor shook his head.

“New Year,” he corrected. Yuuri turned around, confused, and Victor explained, “New Year tree, not Christmas. We’re in Russia.”

“Oh, right, I'm sorry, I—” Yuuri bit his lip. Ugh, wonderful, his tongue had let him down again.

Victor instantly touched Yuuri’s lip with his thumb and leaned closer, exhaling warmly, “Stop biting.”

Yuuri looked up at him, and his hand automatically touched Victor's chest. He bit his lip even harder, but for a completely different reason. Yuuri just wanted to pull Victor closer, and he almost found the courage to do it, but—

“Ahem,” came the polite chuckle. Yuuri jumped back so hard, he almost crashed into the New Year tree, and only Victor’s strong arms on his waist kept him from falling.

Sasha grinned from the doorway.

“And here I was wondering what took you so long,” she said. Victor groaned, hiding his face in Yuuri's hair, and Yuuri covered his scarlet face with his hands and wished the ground could just swallow him up.

The kitchen was also decorated for the New Year. Yuuri sat down on the couch by the table, staring at the candles with snowflakes and refusing to look up at Victor's chuckling parents.

Victor himself was busy making tea, and Yuuri felt like he’d been left to be eaten by two sly wolves. No wonder Victor was so close with Chris...

Finally, Victor brought Yuuri a cup of amber tea and slid onto the couch next to him, instantly placing his hand on Yuuri’s knee. Yuuri squeezed Victor’s fingers tightly.

A conversation started — a prosaic one, most ordinary, full of questions like “Did you get here all right?”, “How is your work?” And “How are you?”. Victor's parents continued to speak English — his father sometimes forgot his words and then looked helplessly at his wife until she translated for him, because Sasha chattered with barely any accent.

As it turned out, Victor's mother worked at the Faculty of Foreign Languages of St. Petersburg State University, and her father was a sport physician, and it was he who had advised Victor to go and try figure skating all those years ago.

As soon as he said that, Yuuri stood up and bowed, bending almost at a right angle.

“You can’t even imagine how grateful I am,” he blurted out under the shocked eyes of the Nikiforovs, and when he finally sat down, flushed but confident in his words, Victor groaned and buried his face in the table, hiding his obvious blush.

“You're welcome,” answered Andrei, chuckling in shock, but then smiling. “We could tell you the same thing.”

Yuuri frowned in confusion, and Sasha explained, “We never thought someone could be such a good influence for our son.”

Victor’s groan grew louder, and Yuuri laughed, ruffling his already mussed hair.

“By the way,” Sasha said, turning to Yuuri. “Sorry we didn’t ask you right away. Do you celebrate Christmas? Because we don’t, and we prefer to celebrate both Vitya’s birthday and the New Year on the same day. But we already have a gift for you, so we could arrange a dinner, if you want…”

A soft warmth spread through Yuuri’s heart.  He shook his head, squeezing Victor’s fingers under the table.

“We do celebrate Christmas, but it’s more like — a celebration of family and love?” he glanced at Victor, unable to restrain himself. “Please, don’t worry. I’ll happily exchange gifts after the New Year. We celebrate it in Japan, too.”

“Wonderful!” Sasha exclaimed, her lips forming a heart. “It’s even better this way. Now, Andrei and I have a small gift for both of you today!”

“Yeah. Your aunt Lisa invited us to a ballet, so today we’ll leave you at five and won’t be back ‘til tomorrow morning. So you’ll have time to celebrate... family and love,” he grinned.

Yuuri managed not to faint, much to his own surprise. But he could almost feel steam coming out his ears.

“Thank you very much,” Victor quipped, pulling Yuuri close. “So we will.”

A moment passed — and all three laughed; Sasha slapped her husband on the shoulder lightly, and Victor kissed Yuuri's hair and whispered, “Get used to it, they’re always like that.”

Victor's parents turned out to be wonderful people. Yuuri was still getting used to them, joining a conversation only when they addressed him directly or when Victor forgot some fact, but it was very nice to sit and listen to them. Maybe — and this thought made his chest tingle with sweet anticipation — maybe, by the end of the week he really could be a part of their family.

The hot fragrant tea, the warmth of Victor sitting next to him and the cheerful conversations were relaxing, and the tension of the past days, the long sleepless flight and his nerves slowly began to affect Yuuri. It wasn’t long before Yuuri found himself dozing off on Victor’s shoulder under silent gazes of the Nikiforov family.

Both Sasha and Andrei looked at him in the same way that Victor sometimes did: as if Yuuri was the greatest treasure on Earth.

“ _Poskoreye by vy sygrali svadbu_ ,” Sasha said in a trembling voice, and Yuuri made out just one word — the _wedding_ — to understand what she was talking about. He hid his face in Victor's neck.

“ _Obyazatelno_ ,” Victor choked out. “Hey, gold medalist, wake up. Let's go back to our room.”

“I’m sorry,” murmured Yuuri to Victor's parents, standing up and bowing. It was a shame, but his tiredness really had taken its toll.

Victor’s parents just waved away his apology and wished them sweet dreams.

“Don’t sleep all day,” Andrei instructed before they left. “Because, except for today, we aren’t going to leave you alone anymore.”

To the sound of cheerful laughter, Yuuri and Victor returned to Victor's room and, as soon as they stepped inside, Victor reached for Yuuri's warm lips; but Yuuri recoiled, placing his fingers on Victor's.

“Nuh-uh, I’ll give it to you later with your present.”

“Whaaat?” Victor whined, grabbing the hem of Yuuri’s T-shirt and pulling it off him. Yuuri didn’t even protest: he was used to the fact that Victor liked to undress him before going to bed.

“Just be patient,” Yuuri sat on the bed, looking at his fiancé with a smile, and held his hands open. Victor immediately slipped between them, and together they fell onto the soft blanket.

“I'll kiss you while you sleep,” Victor whispered, nuzzling his chest. Yuuri only smiled happily, staring at the ceiling.

“Bring it on.”

* * *

As Yuuri kept waking up and dozing off again, he heard Victor’s parents talk and leave the apartment. He heard his fiancé getting out of bed to answer his phone, and then lying down again, whispering something softly in Yuuri’s ear.

Even when Yuuri fully woke up — in an already dark room, lit only by the iridescent lights of a garland — he didn’t get up immediately. He was still jet-lagged, and it was his own fault — he should have waited for a proper bedtime rather than sleep in the middle of the day.

In his sleepy state Yuuri glanced at Victor, who had woken up already and was busy scrolling through his phone without noticing that Yuuri was awake too.

Wanting to draw Victor’s attention, Yuuri butted Victor’s shoulder with his forehead and felt a palm ruffling his hair.

“Did you sleep well?” Victor asked him, but Yuuri didn’t answer. Instead, he crawled over Victor, nuzzling his chest before burying his nose in Victor’s neck. He was so warm and cozy, compared to cold air around them.

Victor put the phone down; his cool hands slid over Yuuri’s naked back, making him shiver and mumble something incoherent. But Victor kept stroking his back: gently, not pushing things further, enjoying the process. A few moments later, Yuuri melted into a happy puddle of pure joy.

His drowsiness slowly receded. Finally, after fifteen minutes of loving stroking, Yuuri lifted his head and looked into Victor's eyes.

“Hi,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Hi there,” Victor said quietly, and Yuuri reached out to him to peck his cheek gently. “It’s evening already.”

“Mmm?” Yuuri was slow to catch the meaning of Victor words, but then he did and laughed softly, reaching up to touch Victor’s lips with his own. He wouldn’t call it a kiss, but Victor smiled anyway. “And the rest you’ll have along with the gift.”

“I don’t actually celebrate my birthday, you know,” Victor smirked, tickling Yuuri’s vertebrae with his fingertips. “You don’t have to give me anything. I only need you.”

His hand moved lower and gripped Yuuri's butt through his pants. Yuuri raised his head to look Victor in the eyes. He intended to look sarcastic, but Victor laughed.

“Don’t glare at me like that, you are so sleepy right now, it’s too cute,” he said, but removed his hand.

“What time is it?” Yuuri really didn’t want to get up, but when Victor showed the phone screen saying it was almost 8 PM, he kind of had to. “Oh god. I slept through all of Christmas.”

“We have four more hours,” Victor smiled, but then his smile faded a little. “If you want, we could celebrate Christmas. We could surely find some party in the city and—”

Yuuri shushed Victor with a finger on his lips, and then settled on Victor's lap and trailed his fingers lower, down his chin, then his neck — Victor swallowed audibly — and finally stopped on his chest.

“We _will_ celebrate it,” he promised quietly — without any tease in his voice, without a seductive smile, without a playful lick on his lips. But he didn’t need all of that, if Victor’s dilated pupils could be any indication. “I’m going to make up for the whole week without you…”

And then he just slipped out of bed and stretched, yawning, as Victor remained lying, clutching his heart.

And Yuuri tried really hard to pretend that he didn’t shiver happily from such a reaction.

 

Their evening passed in cozy silence. Snow began to fall outside the window — Yuuri was fascinated by the large flakes that slowly danced down to the ground and covered everything with a white fuzzy blanket. And even when Victor glanced out of the window and said that it would melt by morning, he didn’t ruin the magic of the moment.

Yuuri was done staring only when dinner time came. On the kitchen table there were already two plates with Caesar salad, and baked fish was waiting for them in the oven, expertly cooked by Victor’s parents. But that wasn’t all: it turned out that the sweet smell that had hung around the apartment in the morning came from rosy sugar buns. Yuuri doubted they were in his diet plan, but his mouth watered at the mere thought.

He sat at the table across from Victor, awkwardly pulling at the sleeves of his long sweater; he was too cold to go without warm clothes, but when he had gone to look for something to wear, Victor had given him his own sweater. It was warm, silky to the touch, and smelled delicious. Yuuri was ready to hide his frozen nose between the folds for the rest of his days.

Victor lit two candles, then turned off the lights and lit the garland; it turned out to be romantic, albeit a bit uncomfortable. But Yuuri was ready to forget any inconvenience at the vision of the colored lights dancing on Victor's face.

But right after Victor got back to the table, he crossed his arms over his chest and demanded, “So, how about my present?”

At first, Yuuri was taken aback by his words — but then his sly fiancé put his index finger to his lips.

“I still don't deserve a kiss?”

Yuuri glanced at the food, licked his lips, then bit them, realizing that if he kissed Victor now, they wouldn’t get to eat any time soon. Unfortunately — or maybe not — Victor noticed those longing gazes.

“Did you just think that a salad is better than me?” he asked, smiling with his little smile that didn’t promise anything good for those who were at the receiving end. Yuuri shrugged helplessly.

“Your parents are excellent cooks.”

“Yuuri!” and there it was, exasperation. Sighing, Yuuri quickly popped a cherry tomato into his mouth and pushed the plate away.

“The real gifts first, okay?” he said, pulling a small box out from under the table, where he’d put it beforehand. After the trip spent in a suitcase, the gift’s corners were slightly worn, its bow askew, but the box was still pretty. “It’s from my parents and Mari. Wait!” He leaned over the table and squeezed Victor's hand as the man reached for the bow. Yuuri knew what Victor would find there, and he knew that he would simply not survive it if Victor opened it around him. “How about— we open it tomorrow, okay?”

“What’s in there?” Victor grinned happily at Yuuri’s embarrassment. But Yuuri just waved it away, pretending that nothing had happened.

“And now, from me...” Yuuri took a deep breath and stood up. “Close your eyes.”

Victor did. Mostly.

“Don’t peek,” Yuuri walked around him and put his hands on Victor’s shoulders. Oh, Victor could really use a massage. “I— didn’t know what to give you, to be honest,” it was easier to speak while looking at the silver nape and not into those blue eyes. “So please don’t be upset with me. I—” Yuuri took another deep breath. Actually, he _had_ prepared his little speech, but he wasn’t so good at talking out loud. “I love you. You are m— my everything, I guess. I— well— yeah—”

Victor's fingers gently touched his palm, pushing it forward for Victor to turn his head and press his lips to the golden band on Yuuri’s ring finger.

“Are you sure you don't want to say this to my face?” he asked softly, looking up. Yuuri sighed, closing his eyes, and hugged Victor from behind.

“I am. So. You are my everything. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he wasn’t stammering, but his voice still trembled with a mixture of emotions. Fear, and desperation, and happiness, and hope. “So, um, please accept my gift.”

He pulled a small bundle out of his pocket and handed it to Victor before nuzzling his silver hair.

The paper rustled; Victor gasped — more visibly than audibly — and then the soft question came: “Is this..?”

“An omamori, yeah. For— um, for us both.”

“Is it like the ones we bought in the Hasetsu Temple?” asked Victor. They had bought these small red bags embroidered with gold at the last summer festival. Yuuri carried his amulet tied to his backpack while Victor kept his one at home, safe under his pillow. But those were charms for good luck. This amulet was different.

The square bag was larger than the ones they had bought in Hasetsu, and it was pearl white with an elegant golden crane embroidered on it.

“Kind of,” Yuuri whispered. “It’s an amulet for couples, to ensure spousal bliss.”

Victor froze. Yuuri felt him go rigid with his entire body.

“Spousal bliss?” he repeated, as if he was sure he’d misheard Yuuri. “Wait— you mean— it’s like— for spouses?”

The question would have sounded silly in any other situation. But not now.

Yuuri squeezed Victor tightly in his arms, his eyes screwing shut so hard Yuuri felt tears wetting his lashes.

“Yeah. Sorry. I'm sorry, I understand how it sounds, I’m not saying we should— I know, I can be possessive sometimes, but— I really— I’m sorry—”

His mumbling was interrupted by Victor, who turned around, standing up, and hugged Yuuri so hard Yuuri’s arms ached in an instant, joining his already aching heart.

They stood like that for a few minutes. Victor was silent, hiding his face in Yuuri’s neck and clenching the sweater on Yuuri’s back; and it was only then that Yuuri realized what was going on, because only then did Victor mutter something completely unintelligible and wet from tears.

“W— wait, are you..?” he pushed Victor away from him, looking at his crying fiancé with huge eyes. “This is... this is... this isn’t because you want to leave me, right?” He knew it was the dumbest question in the world, but the words shot from his lips anyway, driven by his heart pounding and the blood rushing in his ears.

Victor laughed wetly.

“Never,” he cupped Yuuri’s face with his palms and pulled Yuuri closer, all the words forgotten.

The kiss was awkward, wet and salty. After a few seconds, Victor sobbed right into Yuuri’s lips, then pulled back, tried to say something, but it was Yuuri’s time to interrupt; he threaded his fingers through Victor’s hair and pulled him even closer, holding Victor there.

Yeah, the second kiss was _much_ better. And then they lost count.

Yuuri didn’t know who was the one to blame — his treacherous heart unable to withstand the pressure of tenderness, which fell upon Yuuri with a flurry of hot kisses and touches, or still sobbing Victor, who pressed Yuuri into the kitchen counter and kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

It wasn’t just ‘nice’. It was all-consuming.

When Yuuri began to run out of air, his lips and fingertips tingling, he rested his hands on Victor's chest, looking up at him, a bit dizzy. Victor was gasping, his pale face patched with heavy blush. It wasn’t the Victor Nikiforov from magazine covers. It was that cute dork whom Yuuri called his fiancé.

“You have no idea,” he breathed heavily in a voice so hoarse he as well could have just run twenty kilometers straight, “how much this means to me. You have _no idea_.”

Unable to restrain himself, Yuuri outlined Victor’s face with his fingertips. Then, he smiled.

“So tell me.”

And then he yelped, because Victor threw Yuuri over his shoulder and headed to the kitchen door, mumbling that he’s going to tell Yuuri _so much_.

And Yuuri didn’t even struggle to obtain his freedom. He knew that Victor’s ‘story’ was going to be very, very long one.

* * *

The next morning came with the arrival of Victor's parents, slamming the apartment door. Yuuri abruptly opened his eyes, looked around wildly for a few moments, then heard muffled voices and realized what had happened.

Unfortunately, the situation has _not_ become any less terrible.

Because Yuuri was lying naked in a bed with the man whose parents were talking and laughing behind the wall.

“Victor,” hissed Yuuri, trying to find his glasses. Victor groaned, mumbled something and rolled over. “Victor!”

“What?” the man whined, rubbing his neck. Yuuri, who had finally put on his glasses, stared in horror at the huge purple hickey right under Victor's jaw.

Groaning, he covered his red face with his hands. He was an idiot. He knew he’d left it...

“Do you have concealer?”

“What?” Victor turned to face him in surprise. “Why?”

Yuuri jabbed a finger into his neck without any words. Victor grimaced.

“Ah, yeah. And do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you have concealer?” Victor smirked and poked Yuuri’s neck. The pain shot through him, and Yuuri clasped a hand over own hickey, afraid to even imagine how big it was.

There was a knock at the door.

“Are you sleeping in there?” Victor’s father asked cheerfully.

Yuuri hastily covered Victor’s mouth with his palm, looked at him with huge eyes and shook his head. But Victor stuck his tongue between Yuuri’s and took advantage of his surprise.

“No! We’ll be out in a minute!”

“Take your time,” Sasha singsonged from behind the door. “See who is back from Yura!”

Yuuri had no time to guess who she was talking about, because he heard loud happy barking, and in the next moment Makkachin came bursting through the slightly opened door. Not wasting a moment, he jumped on the bed and showered Yuuri in a flurry of doggy kisses.

Yuuri howled with laughter, trying to shield his face as Victor chastised Makka about loving Yuuri more than his original master.

“Yes, go lick Victor, Makkachin, you tickle!” Yuuri managed to wriggle out and rolled onto his side, hiding his face in Victor's shoulder. Makkachin started to lick his ear.

There was another polite knock at the door, and before Victor could respond, someone looked into the room — Yuuri didn’t see who it was and had no intention of turning around and finding out; this way he didn’t have to blush because of his hickeys.

“Well, how was the dinner?” asked Andrei, amusement clear in his voice. Victor replied in Russian, stroking Yuuri's hair gently. He and his father talked for several minutes, then switched to English again. “What are you gonna do today?”

Victor only shrugged. Tomorrow they were planning to go to the rink and practice — they were at the middle of the skating season, after all — but today they had a well-deserved day off.

Andrei wanted to ask something else, but Sasha interrupted him mid-word, calling her husband to the kitchen. As soon as he had left, Yuuri raised his head (and immediately was attacked by an attention-seeking Makkachin).

“But actually I _do_ know what we are going to do,” whispered Victor, pulling Makka off Yuuri. His eyes glinted, making Yuuri swallow.

“W— what?”

Victor's finger touched his lower lip, pulling it back a little, and all of Yuuri’s thoughts evaporated instantly. _Almost_ all of them, except for the E-rated ones, of course. No matter how many years Yuuri lived with Victor, no matter how many times he kissed him, he simply couldn’t help himself when Victor was in seduction mode.

But Victor just kissed his nose.

“First of all, I'll open your parents' present,” he said and laughed. Yuuri butted Victor's arm with his forehead, and stayed there, embarrassed. Victor stroked his hair. “You can sleep more if you want. You’ve deserved it.”

Silently, Yuuri shook his head, finding Victor's hand and intertwining their fingers. Makkachin, realizing that no one was going to play with him, curled up by their legs.

Yuuri would gladly spend an eternity lying like that. But then he wouldn’t be able to spend a wonderful day off with Victor, so he had to get up.

But he wasn’t going to move, of course.

 

As a result, they left the room only two hours later, sleepy but satisfied. Victor's father had gone somewhere, so it was only Sasha who met them in the kitchen. She threw a glance in their direction before disappearing into the bathroom. Several moments later, she came out with some concealer.

It was perfect for Victor’s fair skin, but too light for Yuuri’s. And despite all the assurances that nobody cared, he still changed into a high-neck sweater. It was enough for Yuuri that Victor’s parents were aware of their personal life, he didn’t want to continuously remind them of it.

After the breakfast — or rather the lunch — they returned to their room, and Victor insisted on unpacking the gift from Yuuri’s parents.

Yuuri didn’t object, but he did hide in the bathroom for half an hour. When he returned, he found Victor clutching a photo album to his chest. Oh, yes, just as Yuuri had expected. Part of Yuuri wanted to turn around and run off somewhere, but Sasha was already standing in the doorway, blocking the only exit.

“Oh, is that an album?” she asked, looking at Victor curiously. He nodded.

“Full of young Yuuri’s photos!” he exclaimed, gently pushing aside Makkachin nosing at his foot. “Why didn't you say they gave me your photo album?” he turned to Yuuri, and Yuuri lowered his head, unable to look into Victor’s eyes shining with sincere delight.

“I'll— I’ll be right back,” he mumbled, bowing slightly, and simply ran off to the kitchen.

To escape was a wonderful plan, of course, but he had no idea what to do after that point. So he drank a glass of water, trying to calm down, and jumped almost to the ceiling in fright when someone's hand touched his elbow.

“Oh!” Victor's mother let go of him, surprised, and Yuuri shuddered through a breath, clutching his chest.

“I’m sorry, I—”

Sasha shook her head, a sly smile on her pink lips. She really did look like Victor, but she was smaller, and this height difference was part of her appeal.

“How about a little revenge?” she whispered, waving a hand for him to follow.

Confused, he followed her into the main bedroom anyway. Once there, Sasha knelt by the cabinet, opened the bottom drawer and dug through it.

“It should be here somewhere— wait— here it is,” she pulled two thick books onto the floor and showed them to Yuuri proudly.

“Are these—” he stared at the books, feeling his cheeks burn. Oh no. Oh no, his heart wouldn’t be able to handle this.

But Sasha only winked at him.

“Grab them and let’s go,” she said.

Yuuri clutched the two photo albums, afraid to even think about Victor’s reaction. And afraid to think about his own reaction. Because — oh dear god. Oh _dear god_ , he had two albums’ worth of Victor’s baby pictures, and he was going to see them all.

When they returned to Victor and the man noticed what Yuuri was carrying, all the color fled from his face, returning as a scarlet blush high on his cheekbones.

“Mom!” He exclaimed, but Sasha only giggled and pulled out several pillows from the closet in order to make herself comfortable on the floor. Yuuri slid under Victor’s arm; he wasn’t looking up at him, and when Victor pulled Yuuri closer by his shoulders, Yuuri bit his lips.

One of the pillows was instantly taken by Makkachin: he lay on it, but put his head on Sasha's lap. She scratched him behind the ears.

“Oh, I missed Makka so much,” she admitted. “Victor, why don’t you bring him here more often?”

“So you don’t ask why I don’t visit you more often,” he grinned good-naturedly. For a moment Yuuri felt embarrassed, but both Nikiforovs laughed, and it became clear they didn’t hold any grudges against each other.

“I'm sorry he left Russia because of me,” mumbled Yuuri anyway. Sasha touched his arm warmly, and he looked up at her, marveling at the depth of her blue eyes.

“Yuuri,” she said in a firm voice. “Thank you for being with him.”

Somewhere in the background, Victor grumbled a quiet “But mom,” but Sasha shushed him and smiled warmly at Yuuri.

“It’s so nice to see my son changing his _I don’t need anyone, I’m married to figure skating_ attitude to _I’ve found the love of my life_ ,” she said. Yuuri looked at Victor, frowning. Did he really call him “the love of his life” with parents?

Victor just shrugged and silently opened the album on the front page.

The next moment Yuuri found himself choking on air because the picture showed a baby with short silver hair sitting in a basin full of water. Clutching Victor's palm, he lifted his eyes at him, trying to express how happy he was without any words — because the ability to speak left him in that exact moment.

Both Victor and Sasha laughed, and Yuuri covered his red face with his hands. But after a moment he peeked from behind his fingers and choked out, “Please continue.”

Accompanied by merry laughter and endless gasps from Sasha and Yuuri they flipped through the first album. It was full of Victor’s early years: from early infancy to eight-nine years of age.

Sometimes Sasha would stop flipping through the pages and tell Yuuri what was going on in a picture.

“This is my old cat,” she said, pointing to little Victor, dragging behind him a huge Persian cat on a kid’s sled; he was tiny there, the cat almost bigger than him. It scowled, dissatisfaction clear on its face: perhaps because Victor was pulling it not through snow, but through obviously summer grass.

“Such a hellbeast,” Victor grumbled. “She scratched me all the time.”

“Oh, maybe because you tried to bite off her tail when you were three?” said Sasha, and Victor rolled his eyes, shrugging.

On the next picture Sasha decided to talk about, Victor was about five, and he was crying so hard Yuuri could see red blotches on his face even on the photo.

“Wait, is this—” Yuuri pointed to the background, and Victor groaned softly.

“Oh yes,” Sasha’s smile widened. “Here we brought Vitya to the rink for the first time. He cried non-stop because on that day his favorite cartoon was being rerun on TV, even though he had watched it thousands of times already. But here we were, evil parents, dragging him to the rink. How many times did you say that figure skating was the dumbest thing in the world, huh, Vitya?”

Her smile was so mischievous that Yuuri wanted to give her a hug. A big hug, because Victor's mom was a real wonder.

Victor waved his hand, giving up, and turned away. A blush glowed on his cheekbones, and Yuuri thought he’d never seen Victor so embarrassed. Smiling softly, he intertwined their fingers together and nuzzled Victor’s shoulder.

“I didn’t love it from first sight, either. But when I saw you—” he fell silent under Victor's gaze. It was amazing: Victor hadn’t said anything, but his _I love you_ was clear and loud, piercing Yuuri to the bone.

“Hmm, and who is that?” Sasha asked. She hadn’t noticed anything — or pretended not to notice. “Maybe, the worst person on the Earth?”

She pointed to the photo taken that same day: Vitya, still red-faced, stood next to a man who had awkwardly embraced him and clearly had no idea what to do with his own face and hands. Yuuri didn’t recognize him at first, but then gasped, stunned.

“Mr. Feltsman!”

“Yeah,” Sasha nodded. “He and Andrei are friends, and in this photo we had come to his classes for the first time. It’s a pity he hadn’t been Vitya’s coach from the very beginning of his career, though.”

“I don’t even know,” Victor muttered. “Then he’d have lost his hair much earlier…”

Yuuri snickered.

“That’s the coach’s fate,” he said, stroking Victor’s hair. The man gave him a dramatic look, placing a hand on his chest.

They continued flipping through the pages; the further they went, the more photos from skating rinks, both urban and professional, began to appear. There were pictures of kids standing next to Victor — “Oh, these are my classmates, and this is my first kindergarten crush,” — some photos of relatives, a whole bunch of hamsters and rats, sometimes dressed up in skirts or little suits, and sometimes sitting in racing cars, which were controlled by joyful Victor with a remote control in his hands.

By the time they reached the end, Yuuri's cheeks were aching with laughter; he hadn’t stopped smiling for a moment, and when Sasha began to deliberately embarrass her son with stories from his childhood, it was simply impossible to resist.

When they finally got to the last page and decided to start the next album, the doorbell rang.

“Ah, it's dad,” Sasha said, rising. “I hope he’ll join us.”

She went to open the door, and Yuuri turned to Victor. The man looked at him, snorted, and turned away.

“Heeeey,” Yuuri grabbed Victor by the hand and pulled. Victor didn't turn around. “Victor.”

“Hmph.” His fiancée folded his arms across his chest.

Sighing, Yuuri got up, walked around Victor and sat down beside him. Victor frowned at him.

“What, having fun laughing at me?” he asked. Yuuri saw Victor was joking, but still decided to play along.

“You were adorable,” he said, reaching out and gently touching Victor’s cheek. Victor raised an eyebrow.

“I _was_?”

“Well...” Yuuri went silent and laughed after a second, cupping Victor's face so he wouldn’t turn away again. “Hey, how can I apologize to you?”

Victor shrugged, but Yuuri knew exactly what to do. Leaning forward, he gently touched Victor's lips. The kiss came out quite short, but then Yuuri looked Victor in the eyes and leaned forward again and again until they were on the floor, kisses hot, greedy and passionate.

Yuuri pressed Victor to the floor with his weight, one palm resting on the floor and the other clutching the T-shirt on Victor’s chest, and kissed him, kissed and kissed until he run out of air. And as soon as he did, he broke off, gasped heavily and dove in again, forgetting everything in the world.

Victor's palms slid over his back, studying and caressing; fingers slipped under Yuuri’s sweater teasingly, but soon the whole palm, hot and strong, ended up under it, and Yuuri groaned softly, biting Victor’s lip and pulling out the exact same sound from him.

And of course none of them had noticed the door opening.

“Oh, boys, at least lay on the bed, not on the bare floor,” they heard Sasha's voice, and Yuuri almost bit his own tongue off as he rushed to break away from Victor.

The parents standing in the doorway smiled — and Yuuri suddenly realized that this moment had just become another embarrassing story.

 

They spent the rest of the day going through the albums, both the one that Yuuri’s parents gave them (when Yuuri looked at his own baby photos, he was so embarrassed that even the tips of his ears went red), and Victor’s album. Sasha even found a bunch of old photos with Victor’s grandparents. These photos were stored in separate plastic files, and, when Sasha and Andrei complained that they couldn’t find the time to sort them, Yuuri realized that would be the perfect New Year gift for them.

By the next day, the weekend had passed. Victor's parents got up early, but Yuuri didn’t want to waste time in bed either. And with that, when he got up for a run, he suddenly found himself drinking tea in the kitchen surrounded by Victor's parents, his purple hickeys hot brands on his skin where they weren’t covered by a T-shirt.

But no one paid attention to them. Victor parents made him a cup of tea, tried to feed him, and when Yuuri refused politely, they left him a bowl of porridge for after the run. As it turned out, the main cook of the Nikiforov family was Andrei, and that fact was the source of many jokes from his wife — they talked mostly in Russian, but sometimes switched to English just for Yuuri.

Yuuri went for a run after saying goodbye to everyone, and on his return found a lone sleepy Victor, who picked Yuuri up in his arms as soon as Yuuri entered the apartment and dragged him into the shower without any explanation.

After a shower (and then the _real_ shower) and breakfast, they went to the rink. Yuuri was so used to living within walking distance from it — both in Hasetsu and in St. Petersburg — that he fell asleep in the car, and the whole warm-up was spent in an endless struggle with the desire to sleep.

Of course, nobody was going to practice too hard so close to the New Year, and the whole rink was steeped in holiday spirit. Even Yakov almost didn’t scold Victor and Mila when they chased Yura around the rink, trying to wrap a garland around him.

But on the whole, nothing had changed during the week that Yuuri was away from the rink; well, maybe Yura yelled more than usual, angry about the gold Viktor had won. But that was temporary. Yura always yelled at first, then worked his ass off preparing for the next event.

But not today, of course. Today the spirit of the New Year was in the air.

“Hey, Katsudon,” Yura said to Yuuri somewhere towards the end of practice, frowning fiercely. Yuuri stopped next to him, tilting his head. “We’re gonna go for a walk the day after tomorrow. Wanna go with us? Mila and Gosha missed you,” he gritted his teeth, and Yuuri smiled widely, trying not to pay attention to Viktor, who was mime showing _Yes,_ **_of course_ ** _Mila and Gosha_ , behind Yura’s back.

“Of course,” Yuuri smiled.

And he didn’t regret his decision.

The next day was spent in the turmoil of the last day of practice. Everyone bludged as much as they could, and even Yakov managed to snooze in the middle of the day. And of course, when he woke up, he found himself wearing a Ded Moroz hat, carefully put on him by Viktor, and for the next two hours the whole Russian figure skating family and their Japanese in-law listened to what they could and couldn’t do during their holidays.

The first thing in the prohibition list was “Breaking your damn legs”, and then the traditional “Get drunk”, “Get twenty kilograms fatter” and “Get into the hands of police”. With each new item, someone would sigh. Victor sighed more than anyone.

“I broke my leg before the New Year, once” he whispered in Yuuri’s ear, making him jump a little. “When I was twenty, I think.”

“They said on TV that you fell in practice,” Yuuri said, perfectly remembering how upset he was when he heard the news.

“Actually, I tried to slide down an icy hill on my ass, and something went wrong,” Victor sneaked a kiss at Yuuri's ear, and a loud chuckle fell from Yuuri’s lips.

The silence fell. Yakov’s eye twitched, and Yuuri bowed immediately, blushing to the tips of his ears.

“Please forgive me,” he breathed, and then added with a smile, “It’s Victor’s fault.”

“Hey, but it was you who laughed!” Victor argued, and the next moment, everyone was proving to Victor that no matter what happened, he was the only one to blame.

Yakov heaved a sigh; Yuuri glanced at him with a guilty smile and shrugged, receiving a tired wave of a hand in response.

 

The next day, Yuuri woke up because of the handful of slush that Victor dumped on his face.

“W— what?” Yuuri breathed out, shaking off the snow and shivering from the cold. Victor waved his hand toward the half-open window, glowing with a smile as bright as a New Year tree.

“It’s snowing outside!” he announced cheerfully.

Yuuri only groaned and crawled under the blankets, and refused to leave them for anything less than the scorching hot kisses Victor placed on his skin wherever he could.

His parents were at work again, but had left warm piroshki waiting for them in the kitchen. Yuuri remembered Yakov’s words about not getting fat, looked at Victor, at the piroshki, at Victor again, and realized that they both would be breaking that one.

They had agreed to meet their friends at 1 PM on Nevsky Prospect, the main street of St. Petersburg, but, of course, they were late. And not because Victor couldn’t keep his hands off Yuuri (and he couldn’t), and not because Yuuri couldn’t keep his hands off Victor (and he couldn’t), but because, when Yuuri got outside, he was greeted with a handful of snow shoved down the back of his collar by Victor’s generous hand.

Squeaking, Yuuri tried to shake the snow out, but it melted too quickly. Revenge was his only choice.

For half an hour they ran around the playground, throwing snowballs at each other. Yuuri, using his agility, managed to knock Victor into a snowdrift twice, but on the third time Victor grabbed his hand, and they rolled into the damp snow together, laughing and shoving snow under each other’s jackets.

Eventually, it turned out that there was too much of it, and Yuuri froze to the bone well before they reached the bus stop.

So they had to go back and change clothes, and subsequently listen to Yura’s grumbling about “getting sick from waiting”.

Glancing at each other, Yuuri and Victor scooped a handful of snow from the nearest handrails of the Griboyedov Canal each and threw it at Yura, receiving a bevy of shouted obscenities in response.

Yuuri always enjoyed going out with his rinkmates, and even though he preferred  to stay close to Victor over running around the courtyards of Nevsky Prospect, trying to push his opponent into the snow, he was over the moon anyway.

They walked through a New Year's fair, looking for gifts for the family and each other, plied Yura with ice cream in the cold (not that he resisted), and waited for the evening to fall and the streets to light up with New Year's lights.

It was magical. Yuuri got to see the remnants of the ornaments last year, but now, in the late evening, under the large flakes of falling snow, the ornate white-blue-gold patterns seemed especially wonderful.

Yuuri clung to Victor's hand and got a kiss on the top of his head, right between the cat ears of his beanie. He looked up. Victor smiled, his eyes reflecting the glittering lights of cars rushing past.

“Yuuri,” he whispered warmly, and that one and only word was enough to express all the feelings flooding in his heart.

Yuuri looked around, bit his lip and pulled Victor to the side, nodding at the arch leading to the courtyard of a building. Victor followed him instantly, shouting to their friends to wait, and soon he and Yuuri disappeared into the darkness of a well-courtyard, a small space surrounded with buildings from four sides.

There were no people inside, only slowly falling snow, illuminated by orange street light. Yuuri looked around before he stood on his tiptoes and pressed against Victor's cold lips, clutching his coat. Victor hugged him, holding him close, and giggled into Yuuri’s lips.

“Couldn’t resist?” he whispered, rubbing his nose against Yuuri’s.

“Didn’t even try,” Yuuri replied honestly, sliding his hands around Victor’s neck. The front door of the building slammed, and Yuuri hid his face in Victor’s scarf, breathing in the sweet smell of his cologne.

Yuuri knew they shouldn’t make their friends wait, but he couldn’t tear himself away from Victor. When the passerby left the yard, Yuuri raised his head and kissed Victor again — slowly, gently and deeply, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation of the lips on his own. Victor stroked his back, barely noticeable through the thick winter jacket, and Yuuri scratched the short hairs at the base of Victor’s neck in response, enjoying their softness.

“I feel like a teenager,” Victor whispered into his lips. “It’s been a while since I last kissed someone in a winter yard.”

Yuuri didn't even need to ask why. He already knew everything. And a dizzying happiness blossomed in his chest from that thought.

“Let's go,” he whispered, but then kissed Victor again, and this time they broke away from each other only when a huge snowball crashed right into Victor's head.

“Are you coming or not?” Yura Plisetsky yelled.

Victor looked at Yuuri, kissed his ear and whispered:

“Attack him on the count of three, I'm on the left, you're on the right. One... two... let’s go!”

Laughing and hooting, they grabbed a handful of snow each and rushed towards the screaming Yura.

 

Romps in the snow quickly turned into Victor waking up sick the next day. Yuuri was already awake, so he left his fiancé lying in bed and went to the kitchen to join Victor's parents, who had worked their last days yesterday and now deservedly rested before the holidays.

As soon as he explained the situation, Victor's mom shook her head, made some tea with calendula and went to scold her son, while his dad just rolled his eyes.

“Vitya is being his usual self, I see,” he said, pouring Yuuri a cup of normal tea. Yuuri wanted to refuse — he actually intended to bring Victor medicine, but he could hear Sasha’s voice coming from their bedroom, so he decided to wait out.

“Do you mind if I have breakfast in the bedroom?” he asked, rubbing his shoulder. Andrei looked at him, grinning.

“Is this your way of asking _Can I bring Victor breakfast in bed?_ ” He asked. Yuuri froze, blushing. He really didn’t want to say those exact words, but Victor’s father was difficult to outwit. “Here, take a tray. But don't let him push you around.”

“Yeah, you Nikiforovs are quite the manipulators,” Sasha chuckled as she entered the kitchen.

Her husband grinned again.

“Oh yes. And our surname fits you, by the way.”

They gave Yuuri a full tray of food for him and Victor, and Yuuri could only bow to them in gratitude, blushing when they ruffled his hair.

“ _Kakoy zhe ocharovatelnyy_ ,” said Victor's mom when he turned to leave. And despite the words being in Russian, Yuuri knew perfectly well what those three words meant.

He returned to Victor, who was drinking tea, and they had breakfast in silence, occasionally disturbed by Victor's sniffing. His temperature was not elevated, so he assured Yuuri that he would be fine by tomorrow. But Yuuri still refused to go shopping today as they had originally intended, and instead they stayed at home.

Victor fell asleep towards noon, so Yuuri took advantage of his laptop and plunged into watching YouTube and playing games, which he missed so much that sometimes he itched to play anything he could get his hands on, even if it was just a mobile game.

Half an hour later, Andrei glanced into the room and silently waved Yuuri to follow him out. Yuuri timidly put down his laptop and went out, feeling like a fifteen-year-old boy who had come to visit his first love and ended up alone with their parents.

Except his “first love” was twenty eight years old, and his parents were soon to become part of Yuuri’s own family, if not by blood, then by law. But it was still awkward.

“Yuuri,” said Andrei, heading toward the kitchen. Yuuri could feel a long and difficult conversation coming. When Victor's mother waved at him in the kitchen, he was even more convinced of that.

But suddenly he was given an apron.

“Ah?” he looked up, and Andrei clapped him on the shoulder.

“Relax,” he said in a low voice. “We just wanted to ask you to help.”

“We decided to bake you and Vitya some gingerbread,” explained Sasha, smiling. “As a gift for the New Year. But then we thought that maybe you would like to join and decorate them with us? It’s not like we could gift them to you, since you helped, but maybe—”

“I’d happy to help,” Yuuri whispered, bowing his head slightly.

He tied on the apron and then went to join Victor's mother, who was stirring the icing. Victor’s father leaned over the stove, checking on the first portion of gingerbread. Yuuri didn’t see if it was turning out fine, but it smelled delightful.

A few minutes later the gingerbread was ready.

“We need to cool them down first,” Sasha said, smelling the gingerbread. “But we wanted to finish decorating them while Victor sleeps. So we have to do it like that—”

“Gimme,” Andrei took the tray from her and carried it to the open window. “They’ll cool down now. And you, Yuuri, make sure your sick boy doesn’t see us. If he comes looking for you — distract him, but do _not_ let him into the kitchen. Is that clear?”

Yuuri nodded dutifully, throwing a glance toward the kitchen door. What was the probability that Victor won’t smell the gingerbread from his room? Although, perhaps, his stuffy nose will make it hard for him…

Andrei returned the gingerbread cookies to the table and went to work on the next batch, Sasha handed Yuuri the pastry bags with frosting, and so the work began.

They painted numerous stars, snowflakes and skates in all the colors of the rainbow while the small Makkachin heads were getting ready in the oven. Judging by the amount of brown glaze in the bowl next to Yuuri, there were many more doggos than other shapes.

They weren’t talking much, but the silence wasn’t awkward. Sometimes Victor's parents asked Yuuri about something, sometimes Yuuri himself, fighting over his embarrassment, began to talk about the onsen where he had previously worked, and so gradually they got to talking.

The main topic was, of course, Victor. Yuuri was happy to hear stories from his fiancé’s childhood, which turned out to be many: about how restless he was in his childhood, and how difficult his adolescence was when he fell into a new subculture every other week. About how he learned to play the guitar purely to spite the old neighbor beneath them, who complained to him for each and every sound in the apartment; about how he rocked out with Gosha when they were fifteen, about how he once went all the way to Moscow just to go out, forgetting to both warn his parents and bring a phone and some money with him, and about what a scolding he got when he got home.

But after some time, the stories reached Victor’s twenties: how he shocked everyone by cutting his hair simply because he was tired of being a child in the eyes of the public, and how desperately he pretended that he didn’t need anyone.

“Of course, now we know _who_ he needed,” Andrei looked at Yuuri pointedly, and Yuuri bowed his head, painting a cookie Makkachin with brown icing.

“I wanted to ask,” he said softly, gulping audibly. He didn’t _want_ to ask, but this thought had nagged at him from the moment of the engagement. “Don’t you mind that I’m a... That I’m me?”

He exhaled, realizing how silly it sounded. But Victor's parents looked at each other, as if they understood exactly what Yuuri meant.

“We are very glad that you are you,” Sasha remarked. “But to be honest...” she sighed, rubbing her nose. This might have seemed amusing, considering her small stature and fragile appearance, but Yuuri’s insides turned to ice. “We were a little upset when we found out. What parent doesn't want grandchildren?”

“Yeah, I never thought I’d end up one of _those_ parents,” murmured Andrei. He noticed Yuuri’s shoulders sinking and suddenly laughed. “Don’t worry. We changed our minds a long time ago. In the end, no one will prevent you from having children if you want to, eh?”

He winked, and Yuuri’s ears burned. He wasn’t ready to talk about children. Sasha noticed this and bumped her husband with her hip. It looked funny: Yuko would have looked the same way if she tried to shove Takeshi.

“Don't scare our boy,” she scolded Victor's father. “We mean that we are very glad that you are exactly who you are, Yuuri. Just look at how happy Victor is with you. I never—” her voice faltered, and she sighed. “I never expected he would find anyone, to be honest. The past few years have been so awful. Oh, Yuuri, come here!”

Yuuri didn’t even have time to react. He simply stood rooted to the spot, and allowed Victor's mother to hug him, firmly and with absolutely no hesitation. After a second, Andrei joined the embrace, mumbling that this wasn’t fair, and Yuuri suddenly felt a lump in his throat.

“Thank you,” he murmured, hugging his future family.

“But if you do have children, you’ll have to visit us more often than once a year,” Victor’s father warned quietly. “Or we’ll come and move in with you.”

Yuuri nodded slightly, biting his lips. And when they pulled away from him, he whispered softly, “I'll go see how Victor is doing, if you don't mind.”

But as soon as he had said it, they all jumped from a hoarse, but loud voice, saying, “What are you all plotting here? Why aren’t I getting any hugs, huh?”

A moment passed, and then Andrei laughed, and Sasha pushed Yuuri forward, smile wide, and when he looked back in confusion, she whispered:  
  
“Well, what are you waiting for? Go and hug him, he’s your problem now.”

* * *

New Year's Eve promised to be busy. From the break of dawn there was food being cut, cooked, boiled and steamed. Victor, claiming a stuffy nose, tried to slack off, but he was quickly caught and set to chopping Olivier salad. Of course, his mild cold quickly retreated, although Yuuri still forced him to drink a glass of effervescent vitamin C — just to be on the safe side.

From the very morning some old films were shown on TV. The Nikiforovs said that it was a Russian tradition to watch them on New Year's Eve, but Yuuri didn’t yet have enough vocabulary to grasp everything on the fly, so Victor promised to rewatch them later, at a quieter time.

And now they had to finish cooking everything before midnight, and, considering the list of desired dishes, there was a lot of work to do.

Because Mila, Gosha and Yura had promised to come over right after the New Year, and maybe Yakov with Lilia, too — if they’d want to, of course. Victor's father, winking, said that they definitely would.

So far there were piroshki in the oven, with meat and fish waiting their turn, and everyone was busy with the salads: the Olivier, the herring under a fur coat, the Mimosa, and simpler ones without any names.

Sometimes Victor would drag Yuuri into the bedroom, using the silliest of excuses. Like to vacuum the bed. Or to pat Makkachin. And while they really _did_ pat Makkachin, even if only for a short time, the rest of the excuses remained excuses, because Victor just kissed Yuuri every time.

“You really are like a teenager,” whispered Yuuri on the fourth time, slipping tender fingers through Victor's hair. Victor laughed loudly and rubbed his nose against Yuuri’s.

“It’s my old room’s influence,” he said.

“But we all know your real age,” Yuuri whispered, giggling, and received a poke under his ribs from a now-pouting Victor.

Then they were interrupted by a loud voice from the kitchen: Victor's mother shouted that everyone knew what they were doing there, and that it would be better for them to come back to help, so Yuuri, blushing, dragged Victor back to the kitchen.

They set the table in the living room, and gradually it was covered in all sorts of dishes and snacks, as well as cute trinkets: Victor's mother made little ships from napkins, Victor’s father placed on the table several small glowing snowmen with snowglobe bellies, and Victor brought and arranged candles, saying that they’ll be needed to make a wish.

Gifts began to gather under the flickering lights of the New Year’s tree. Victor brought his first: instead of wrapping them in paper, he had chosen the most beautiful holiday gift bags he could find. Apparently, the blue with cartoon skates was for Yuuri, and he couldn’t resist looking inside, noticing in there a set of new headphones and a certificate for two tickets to an escape room. Yuuri also brought out his gifts: one of them was a beautifully wrapped photo album, on which he and Victor had worked half the night before, and in the other was a small gift for his Vitya, even though the man insisted that the оmamori was enough. All the other gifts were for the figure skating family, so the pile was impressive in the end. And then Sasha put among them a figure of Ded Moroz in a blue fur coat, and added a silver garland wrapped in white fairy lights, and the bottom of the tree shone with magic.

The streets got darker. Someone started setting off fireworks already, scaring Makkachin, but Yuuri looked out of the window of Victor’s room happily, watching the glowing flowers blossom in the sky.

In order to see better, Yuuri didn’t turn on the light, so he didn’t notice how Victor snuck up behind his back. Only when his cold lips touched Yuuri’s earlobe and his hands slid onto Yuuri’s waist, did Yuuri jump and realize he wasn’t alone.

“In the New Year, the fireworks will be going off until four in the morning,” whispered Victor. “Even though you aren’t allowed to set them off near buildings, people fire them anyway”.

Yuuri sighed. Yes, he was accustomed to the words “It’s not allowed, but people do it anyway.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said. Victor nodded slightly, settling his hands into the pockets of Yuuri’s sweatshirt.

“I wish we could be home now,” he whispered. Yuuri trembled — whether from a hint in his voice, or from the cold coming from the window.

“It's nice here too,” he said. Victor didn’t deny it, and Yuuri felt him smile into his neck.

“It's very nice here, yeah. But I want to hide you from everyone and keep you all to myself. You live through the year the way you greet it, you know,” he said, kissing Yuuri’s temple. Yuuri closed his eyes, touching the cold window glass with his forehead.

“Then I’m glad I will greet it with you,” he said, and felt Victor tightening his embrace.

He buried his nose in Yuuri's hair, took a deep breath, and Yuuri found his palm and squeezed it.

“The next New Year, it’ll be just the two of us,” he promised quietly. “Or we could rent a skating rink for the whole night. Do you think Yakov would kill us?”

“I’ll take care of him,” Victor assured, and then softly whispered, “I love you, Yuuri. I hope you feel it.”

Warmth coursed through his body, and Yuuri melted in Victor’s hands, nodding weakly. Victor rarely spoke these words to him, preferring to express feelings through actions, and perhaps that’s why Yuuri’s legs wobbled immediately.

“Um. Uh. Yeah,” he tried to cope with his voice fruitlessly, but Victor for once didn’t press him, just picked him up and carried him to the bed. He glanced quickly toward the door, then at the clock and whispered, “For the next ten minutes you are mine alone,” and immediately showered Yuuri with hot kisses. And Yuuri didn’t even think of resisting.

 

When midnight came closer, everyone changed their clothes: Sasha got a beautiful dress out of the closet, Andrei found pants and a shirt, and, as Yuuri started panicking because he hadn’t brought anything, Sasha got him and Victor two similar bundles.

“We decided to give your gift early,” Sasha winked.

Inside they found two knitted sweaters — with little poodles for Yuuri and with one big deer for Victor. The man immediately began to suspect that the meaning the deer held wasn’t a nice one, and he didn’t calm down until his father confirmed all his guesses. But he wasn’t offended — on the contrary, he proudly pulled a sweater on himself and went to the kitchen to finish the salmon caviar appetizers.

Yuuri meanwhile was sat down at the table and told to relax; Andrei handed over the TV remote control, but Yuuri couldn’t find anything interesting — perhaps because he lacked the vocabulary — so he just turned on some kind of concert and pulled out his phone to congratulate Phichit and the others on the New Year, whether it was coming or had come already for them.

He was so engulfed in his conversation that he barely noticed Victor flopping down on the sofa next to him, immediately hugging him by the waist.

“Wrap it up,” Victor singsonged, lighting the four candles decorating the table.

Andrei turned off the light, and Sasha handed everyone a tiny piece of paper and a pen. Yuuri looked at Victor, confused, and the man smiled warmly.

“Ten minutes left before the New Year,” he whispered. “And this is a tradition. You write a wish on a piece of paper, and while the chimes strike, you burn it, pour the ashes into the champagne and drink it all. And then your wish will come true.”

The cork slammed loudly — it was Andrei opening a bottle of champagne to pour it into glasses.

Yuuri's squinted. It was dark, but not too dark: the candles, the TV, and the New Year’s tree garlands lit up the room well. But he still needed to come up with a wish.

Victor's parents and he himself were already writing something. Victor absentmindedly played with the omamori, which he had brought and put on the table, and Yuuri gulped. In the soft multicolored light, his fiancé was strikingly beautiful, as if he had slipped from the pages of a fairy tale. Or maybe he really had.

Yuuri stared at the piece of paper. He didn’t know what to wish for. Last year, he had wished for Victor to be there. The year before that he had wished of just forgetting everything that was happening to him. Before that, he had had only the one wish, and it was now sitting next to him and glancing at him with a dreamy expression.

But now... what should he wish for? He had gold medals, he had his family, friends, and, most importantly, Victor.

Yuuri leaned over the piece of paper.

 _I want to be by his side forever,_ he wrote and rolled the paper into a small tube, following the actions of the Nikiforovs.

The concert from the TV was interrupted and replaced by the president's speech — Yuuri didn’t listen to it, and the others didn’t either. Victor, laughing, said that this was just a long-standing tradition — perhaps ironic sometimes, but still a tradition. And then the Kremlin and its clock appeared on the screen.

It was snowing in Moscow; the bells rang, resonating with their rich rolling and ringing roar deep in Yuuri’s heart; and then the bells fell silent, and the countdown began.

_Bom. Bom. Bom._

Victor's father was the first to set his piece of paper on fire. He was followed by Sasha, then Victor, and then Yuuri; unaccustomed to the process, he dropped it when the flame got too close to his fingers, and the paper immediately flickered out in champagne. Victor laughed — his piece of paper didn’t burn to the end, either.

_Bom. Bom. Bom._

“I love you,” Victor whispered again, looking Yuuri in the eyes. “Next time, let's celebrate New Year like a real family.”

He drank his champagne and gently touched Yuuri's ring finger. Yuuri, choking, swallowed his champagne, and suddenly realized that he was choking not from the paper, but from tears that had risen in his eyes.

_Bom. Bom. Bom._

“Okay,” he breathed out. He couldn’t figure out if it was because of his own tears, but Victor’s eyes glittered too. But Yuuri didn’t think about it. He just reached forward and kissed him, putting all his feelings, all his emotions into that one touch of his lips.

_Bom. Bom. Bom._

As soon as the last strike fell silent, the fireworks shot up into the air — both on TV and outside the window. The Russian anthem began to play, and the people on the streets shouted merrily. Or maybe not only on the streets: joyful shouts and congratulations were heard from the right, the left, from below and above. Victor's parents also shouted, a cheerful “ _S novym godom!_ ” paired with a merry “ _S novym schastyem!_ ”, but Yuuri didn’t notice any of that New Year’s frenzy. And didn’t care to notice. Only one person in all the world was important to him, and only he was on his mind.

Victor pulled away from him, wiped the tears from his own cheek with a thumb and smiled.

“ _S novym godom,_ Yuuri,” he said, and Yuuri answered — but not just with words.

He hugged Victor with all his strength, touched his forehead with his own and whispered, half-choked, but absolutely and endlessly happy:

“ _Akemashite omedetou,_ Victor.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Priyekhali!_ — "They are here!"
> 
>  _Zdr—zdr—zhrdr—_ — Yuuri's trying to say "Zdravstvuyte", which means "Hello"
> 
>  _Ne zamerzli?_ — "Are you both cold?"
> 
>  _Mam, pap, eto Yuuri_ — "Mom, Dad, it's Yuuri"
> 
>  _Luchshiy moy podarochek — eto ty_ — "The best gift for me is you", it's a line from a Soviet, later Russian, animated series called _Nu, pogodi!_ (Well, Just You Wait!)
> 
>  _Poskoreye by vy sygrali svadbu_ — "I wish you'd get married soon"
> 
>  _Obyazatelno_ — "Sure"
> 
>  _Kakoy zhe ocharovatelnyy_ — "He's so adorable"
> 
>  _S novym godom! S novym schastyem!_ — literally means "[Congratulations] with the New Year! [Congratulations] with the new happiness!" The second sentence commonly used as a responce to the first one.
> 
>  _Akemashite omedetou_ — "Happy New Year"
> 
>  _Ded Moroz_ — literal translation is "Grandfather Frost" — is a fictional character similar to that of Father Christmas and Santa Claus.  
> 


End file.
